


Practically Human

by Daylight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-03
Updated: 2010-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:32:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 20,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daylight/pseuds/Daylight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things are a lot easier to deal with when the world is ending. While Dean goes off to keep his promise to his brother, Castiel is left behind at Bobby's as he tries to adjust to his new life as a human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in a slight AU where season 5 ends almost the exact same way except Castiel's powers are never restored and Bobby is still in a wheelchair.

Castiel watched Dean drive away, the wheels of the Impala kicking up a long trail of dust along the dirt driveway before speeding off down the road. He kept watching long after the black car had vanished beneath the horizon only looking away when he heard the sound of a throat clearing behind him.

"Come on, Feathers," said Bobby tiredly adjusting his cap. "We'd better head inside. Get started on dinner." The old hunter gripped the wheels of his chair and turned around leaving twin trails in the rough ground as he rolled his way up to the ramp leading to the front door.

Shoulders slumped heavily, the former angel followed slowly behind.

The old, wooden house was large, but felt small and cramped with to its numerous mounds of dust-covered clutter. It was enclosed by a heavy silence which Bobby broke with the loud creaking of the refrigerator door as he peered inside.

"You hungry?"

"No," Castiel replied even though he knew his stomach was telling him otherwise. For some reason, he didn't feel like eating.

"Well, you should probably eat something anyway," said Bobby as he started pulling things out of the fridge. "Why don't you go have a shower while I make us something. Don't need you hanging about stinking up the place."

Castiel frowned and glanced down noticing for the first time the stains on his normally pristine coat and suit. Splatters of blood decorated his sleeves and streaks of brown covered his shoes and the cuffs of his trousers. Graveyard dirt, he noted absently. There was also a smell.

"You can borrow some of Dean's clothes. He usually leaves some spare in the closet upstairs in the boy's room." Bobby paused in his meal preparations and turned to look at him. "You do know how to take a shower, don't you?"

"Yes," Castiel said deciding it was best to not mention how he knew. He'd learned a lot of things in the centuries he'd spent observing humanity. One of those things being that humans seldom liked finding out they'd been watched unawares.

The shower was warm and soothing. Castiel spent a long time standing under the falling water, enjoying the numbness it brought. It was a welcome break from the overwhelming feelings he'd been receiving recently from his human senses. When the water grew cold, he stepped out and towelled himself dry, the sight of his naked body still new and alien. He paused a moment when he came to the pink scars that covered his chest. Without his abilities, they refused to fade completely. It seemed as if the banishment symbol that had robbed him of his powers would remain as a permanent reminder.

He found Dean's clothes mixed in with some of Sam's, all haphazardly thrown into a pile at the bottom of the closet. It seemed odd that he could so easily distinguish the two sets. He felt strangely reluctant to touch Sam's things, but in the end, he carefully folded them and set them aside feeling a peculiar tightness in his chest as he did so.

He dressed slowly, his fingers still fumbling slightly over the buttons. The jeans and gray shirt he ended up wearing hung oddly on his body and the material felt strange against his skin. Trying to make them more comfortable, he tugged at the sleeves and pulled at the waist of the pants, but he had little success. He gazed at his beige trenchcoat a long while, but ended up leaving it crumpled in a heap on the floor.

******

Later that night, after a sullen and silent dinner, Castiel found himself upstairs in Sam and Dean's small bedroom, lying on the bed closest to the door and wide awake. It had been Bobby who'd suggested he sleep in the Winchester's room saying he might as well since it didn't appear that they'd be using it anytime soon. Then the hunter had cleared his throat again and helped himself to a long draught of whiskey. Castiel had left him in the study still clutching the bottle and staring emptily into space.

To the former angel, the encompassing darkness of sleep was unappealing. Instead, he turned to the trenchcoat still lying abandoned on the floor. Picking it up, he felt weight in one of the pockets and reached inside pulling out the cell phone Dean had given him. He stared at it a moment; then opened it up and following some half-understood urge, dialled.

"Cas? What...? Is everything alright?"

Castiel winced at the alarm in Dean's voice. He hadn't intended to cause him any concern. Truthfully, he wasn't entirely sure what he had intended, but Sam had been insistent that he would look after his brother.

"Everything is fine," he tried to reassure Dean. "I just wanted to make sure you'd arrived safely at your destination."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry if I woke you."

"'S okay. I wasn't asleep." Despite what Dean said, he sounded incredibly tired, his voice deeper and rougher than usual.

"Then you are well?"

"Oh, just peachy," Dean replied tersely.

Castiel opened his mouth to offer some condolences or words of comfort, but realized he still had no idea what humans considered appropriate in such circumstances. Fortunately, Dean saved him from having to say anything.

"Look, Cas. I just… I can't do this right now. I'll talk to you some other time. Okay?"

"Okay."

Dean hung up almost before Castiel had finished speaking the last word leaving behind only the buzzing tone of the phone. When it was gone, the room seemed even quieter than before. Castiel lay awake a long time in the darkness, the cell still clutched in his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel woke the next morning with a headache and a buzzing in his ears. Ignoring both, he removed himself from the confines of the bed and blearily dressed in some of the assorted clothes he had available to him. When he'd finished, he found himself wearing a pair of Dean's jeans, a brown T-shirt of Bobby's, and a striped shirt that must have been Sam's. He paused a moment then removed the striped shirt and put on one of Dean's reasoning that the other had been too large for him anyway.

As he put on Jimmy's old leather shoes, Castiel felt grateful to the smiling nurse with dark brown hair and matching eyes who had taught him how to tie them. The hospital staff's belief that he'd suffered brain damage during his accident had proven very useful. It had saved him from having to create one of those entangled tales of lies humans seemed to require to get by. In gratitude, he'd informed the nurse that her girlfriend wouldn't be staying in Italy forever and would soon return. The woman had been shocked for a moment then laughed at the amazing things comatosed people could pick up on. Castiel hadn't bothered to correct her.

Downstairs, Castiel discovered Bobby passed out, snoring in his chair, an empty bottle of liquor beside him. The former angel let him be and went on into the kitchen.

Feeling the now familiar sensation of hunger creating unpleasant stirrings in his stomach, he opened the cupboards and stared at the contents in bewilderment. He removed several items looking them over carefully before choosing a few and placing them on the counter. For awhile, his gaze moved back and forth between them and the stove as he tried to recall everything he'd observed about cooking. It was one of those things that changed greatly through time and differed just as much across the continents. He'd never had the opportunity to try it himself and the Winchesters always preferred to acquire food that was already cooked.

After a while, he gave a sigh and turned to the old, battered coffee maker instead. Coffee was something he knew about. He'd tried coffee before he'd ever had a mouthful of food. Dean always started his day with coffee. He stared intensely at the machine before reaching carefully forward.

"Don't you touch a thing."

Bobby's voice made Castiel jump and caused an aggravating rush of adrenaline. He turned to glare at the old hunter who was wheeling quickly into the kitchen seemingly to rescue the coffee maker.

"Don't touch anything," the man repeated forcing Castiel to move away from the counter to avoid being run over by Bobby's wheels. "You'd probably end up setting the house on fire or something."

"I was going to make coffee."

"Do you even know how?"

Chin raised, the former angel gazed down at him. "I've observed Dean making coffee."

"Dean makes crap coffee." Bobby's eyes caught sight of the objects Castiel had removed from the cupboards in hopes of creating a meal. "What's this?"

"Food. I was hungry."

Bobby raised his eyebrows. "Really? Planning on spaghetti with canned peaches and curry powder for breakfast?"

"Is that a problem?" Castiel questioned narrowing his eyes in confusion certain that all the items were edible.

Bobby let his eyes roll towards the ceiling. "Here, watch me." He began setting up the coffee maker. "First I'll show you the proper way to make coffee then we can get started on some eggs and bacon."

******

"Bobby taught you how to cook?" Dean exclaimed, a sound that was half chuckle, half snort coming over the phone. "I wish I could have seen that."

"It was an interesting experience," Castiel replied surprised by the change in Dean's attitude since the previous night. As evening approached, he'd felt the need to call once more and Dean had actually seemed glad to hear from him. It was a strange contrast to the prior call, but the former angel had never understood the swift changeability of human emotions.

"Was it any good?"

"The results were appetizing, but I found the entire process slow and time consuming." Slow felt like an understatement. Bobby had insisted they make chilli for lunch and after all the ingredients had been set in the pot, Bobby had moved off to do something else while Castiel, with nothing to do, had watched for what seemed to be an age as the contents of the pot melded and softened.

"At least, you've got some decent food to eat," Dean grumbled. "You should see the stuff Lisa keeps in her fridge. I can't even identify half the crap in there. What the hell is probiotic yogurt or flax seed oil? Thank God, she keeps some real food around for Ben or I'd be starving."

Castiel frowned wishing that they were communicating in person. This empty interchange of words left much to be desired. "You do not like it there?"

"What? No." Dean immediately protested. "I mean of course I like it. The place is practically a mansion compared to the places I'm used to. Everything's so new and clean, I'm afraid I'm going bust something."

"Then it is a good house?"

"It's an awesome house," replied Dean though the enthusiasm seemed forced. "And I'm lucky Lisa's letting me stay. I kind of showed up out of the blue and managed to completely freak her for the second time. I couldn't exactly tell her everything about, you know…"

"I understand," Castiel said because for once he did.

"Ben thinks its great having me around. Lisa… I'm not so sure. I guess she's still trying to get used to the idea. A couple of her friends showed up today. One thought I was there to fix the plumbing. The other thought I was there to rob the place."

"But you intend to stay?"

"Yeah, well…" Dean hesitated and there was a quiet moment where Castiel listened to the faint sound of Dean's breathing. "This is what I've been dreaming about. This is what I promised… So, yes. I just need to figure out where I fit in."


	3. Chapter 3

The store smelled of mothballs and laundry detergent. Castiel gazed at a long multicoloured rack of clothes, shifting uncertainly through the shirts. He had tried asking Bobby what would be appropriate for him to wear, but the hunter had been less than helpful. Bobby had told him that even though he was paying for the clothes, he had no intentions of being Castiel's personal fashion consultant, and was now wheeling his chair through the piles of broken electronics at the other end of the store.

Pulling out a brown, plaid shirt, Castiel studied it thoughtfully. It was similar to the tops Bobby usually wore. That seemed appropriate enough, but it didn't feel right. Putting the shirt back, the former angel found himself drawn to another rack containing an assorted selection of suits. Perhaps it would be more suitable to wear clothes akin to what Jimmy wore. After all, that was what he was used to.

But he wasn't Jimmy.

Castiel wandered aimlessly through the store and began picking out clothes at random before locking himself in a change room. He quickly tried each piece on barely glancing at his reflection before moving on to the next one. Clothes that felt right went into one pile. All others were discarded in a second.

In the end, he found himself with three pair of jeans and a dozen or so plain shirts and T-shirts in black, gray or neutral shades of green or blue. At the last minute, he grabbed a dark gray coat as well since his trenchcoat was still stained with blood. He'd have to ask Bobby how to clean it.

Bobby gazed at the heap of clothes in Castiel's arms, raised an eyebrow then let out a snort. "Just get in line so I can pay. We're probably going to have to get you a decent pair of boots too."

Looking down at Jimmy's leather, dress shoes sticking out from beneath Dean's old jeans, Castiel wondered what was wrong with them.

After they'd paid and made their way out of the store, Castiel's eyes were drawn to an old woman who was slowly making her way along the sidewalk, each step supported by an aluminum cane. She appeared to be a typical woman of her age with thinning, white hair, a bony, bent back, and frail, arthritic limbs. Her soul shone with the warm orange light of a lamp that had already been burnt to its fullest.

And there was a reaper following a foot behind her.

As Castiel passed them, the reaper turned, his head moving stiffly like a wooden marionette, and their eyes met, the former angel finding himself gazing into ancient, caverness orbs. He could only match the stare for a moment before he had to look away. The eyes reminded him of old, brittle bones and dusty tombs. He wondered what the reaper had seen, if he'd been able to make out whatever speck of grace that still existed inside of him.

While the reaper continued on once more focused on his appointed task, Castiel felt an involuntary shiver go through his spine suddenly realizing that one day a reaper might come for him too.

******

"A reaper?" Dean said over the phone that night. "And you just left him to go after that little old lady?"

The former angel cast his eyes upwards. It was an automatic reaction he had yet to break. Deliberately, he forced his eyes back down. "What would you have had me do?" he asked Dean.

"Well, you could have warned her for a start."

"And have her die in fear?" The former angel shook his head even though Dean couldn't see. "It was her time. She was 84 years old and about to die peacefully of a heart attack in her own living room. Her grandchildren will find her tomorrow morning. They will be saddened for a while but will soon learn to accept it."

"Um… Cas? How do you know all that stuff?"

"I read her soul," Castiel replied as if it was obvious.

Dean cleared his throat. "You do know that normal humans can't read souls, or see reapers for that matter."

"Yes," Castiel said though he did sometimes forget that fact.

"Huh." There was a pause before Dean continued, "Your powers might be drained but you're not exactly human, are you?"

"I am trying to be," insisted the former angel.

"Right."

They were both silent a moment before Dean spoke again.

"Do you know what will happen the next time I die? I mean will I go to heaven or will the angels kick my ass back down to hell after all I've done?"

"Technically, you should automatically go to heaven no matter what the angels wish, but once there… With the absence of Michael, it's likely heaven has been reduced to chaos and anarchy." Thousands of angels with no prophesy to follow, no leader to tell them what to do, and no Go. Chaos was an understatement, but it was no concern of Castiel's. He wouldn't be going back. Not even a reaper would be able to take him there.

"Sometimes, I wish there was no afterlife, no heaven, no hell," Dean said, his gruff voice fading to a whisper. "That it just ended. Sometimes I wish that everything would just end."

And Castiel found himself unable to disagree.


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you ever going to shave?" Bobby asked one morning five days after the world hadn't ended. "Or were you planning to compete with me for best facial hair?"

Raising a hand, Castiel slowly ran his fingers across his chin noting the stubble there was indeed getting long. "I've never shaved before."

The old hunter sighed. "Guess I better teach you then."

Castiel followed Bobby as he wheeled into the downstairs bathroom. Grumbling to himself, Bobby rummaged through a drawer full of old toothbrushes and pill bottles until he finally found a razor; then handed it along with an old rusty can of shaving cream to the former angel.

"Now it's real simple. You just put the foam on then you scrape it, and the hair, off with the razor. Any idjit can do it. Just don't rush and cut yourself."

The can sputtered as it spat shaving cream onto Castiel's hand. With careful precise movements, he covered the growing stubble and then with just as much care and concentration, went over it with the razor. The dark hair vanished, felled like hewed wheat, leaving fresh, bare skin behind. He was almost done when he suddenly caught the eyes of his reflection.

Jimmy was looking back at him.

The razor slipped.

Bobby cursed.

Castiel didn't even notice the blood that was now pouring down his chin and along his neck. He was too focused on the reflection.

The face was not his own, not the flesh nor the eyes. It was unlikely he'd ever look upon his own true visage again. He'd never spent much time contemplating his borrowed face, not having much opportunity or vanity. As he looked at it now, all he saw was Jimmy Novak, eyes gazing almost accusingly, but there was no sign of a soul as if his withered grace was inhabiting an empty corpse.

When he finally became aware of his surroundings once more, he found Bobby yelling at him and trying to push a wad of toilet paper into his hand. Castiel took the toilet paper staring at it in confusion; then he noticed the blood. He pushed the paper to the cut wincing as he felt it sting.

Bobby let out a long breath. "Maybe I'll just buy you an electric razor."

Castiel nodded absently doing his best not to look at his reflection.

******

"Electric razors are better anyway," Dean explained later. "You can set them to leave you with some stubble, and trust me, ladies love stubble."

Holding the phone close to his ear, Castiel leaned back, his vivid blue eyes gazing into the distance. "Dean, do you think I should give Jimmy back his body?"

"What?!" Dean cried incredulously. "Is that even possible?"

"I'm not sure," Castiel said his words slow and uncertain. "I don't have the power to separate myself from my vessel anymore, but I might be able suppress my consciousness somehow, let him take over."

"So, you'd be stuck inside him, just like he's stuck in you now," said Dean sounding like he very much disapproved of the idea. "And then he'd what? Go off back to his old life?"

"I no longer have a mission here on Earth and he deserves to live."

"You deserve to live, you dumbass," Dean berated. "Besides you're human now. You don't need a mission. Free will, remember?"

Castiel desperately wished that things were as simple as Dean made them seem. "The matter is merely speculative in any case. I'm not even sure that he is even alive anymore."

"What do you mean?"

Grimacing, Castiel tried to find a way to explain the connection between an angel and its vessel using the human's limited words. "I've been unable to reach his soul the way I used to."

"So, he's dead?"

"It is likely."

"How?" Dean asked, his tone confused and concerned.

"It may have been when I died or when I used the banishing symbol on myself, I am uncertain." It worried him that he couldn't recall exactly when he'd lost track of Jimmy's soul. Things had felt different after he'd died, but he'd believed it to be due to being cut off from heaven. After he'd ended up in the hospital with no powers, the change had been even greater, but there had been the apocalypse to deal with and little time to take stock.

"Well, I guess that means you're off the hook then," said Dean in an obvious attempt to be positive. "You don't have to worry about it, if he's safely up in heaven."

"But though I am unable to reach him, there are occasions when I still feel his presence," the former angel explained recalling the eyes he'd seen in the mirror that morning.

"Like he's haunting you?"

Castiel had seen the spirits of the dead before, the ones who refused to go with the reapers, the fragments of their angry souls attached to objects and places. Was that what clung to him now?

"Yes," he replied.

"Well, I'm sorry Cas," Dean said regretfully, "but this is one ghost I don't think I can get rid of."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Castiel was browsing through the volumes in Bobby's study when he found the notebook. It was wedged between a copy of an ancient Greek lexicon and a book on fairy tales. The black ink of detailed notes and careful drawings filled the lined pages, but it was the handwriting itself that made Castiel pause and left him with an odd weight in his chest and a tightness in his throat.

He remembered seeing the same flowing, cursive words filling the lines of another book as Sam sat hunched over a table, his right hand constantly writing, his left moving from book to book. Every so often, he'd look up pushing back the long bangs from his face and ask Castiel a question, his eyes full of open curiosity. He always had questions and unlike Dean, was appreciative of the answers.

Castiel recalled other things too: A fierce, steely gaze worn as Sam defended the life of a child he'd just met, a quiet presence by the bed as Castiel recovered from the rigors of time travel, a shared look of mutual concern as Dean stormed off in anger, a steadying hand on his shoulder as he found himself swaying from the effects of alcohol, Castiel's own words to Anna: "Sam Winchester is my friend."

When Castiel had been suffering from the attack on his grace by the Whore of Babylon and the lingering effects of his first hangover, it that been Sam he'd found at his side. Sam had put aside his anger and fear about his brother to make sure Castiel was alright.

The former angel's eyes stung painfully and he wiped at the liquid pooling there. Tears, he realized frowning at the water glinting on his fingertips. They refused to stop. Despite his best efforts, the tears continued to roll down his cheeks. Drops fell marring the pages of the notebook and as he breathed out, the air seemed to shudder in his chest.

From behind him came the creaking sound of Bobby's wheelchair.

"What you up to, Feathers?"

Castiel would have responded but his throat seemed to have painfully closed in on itself leaving him voiceless.

"Cas?"

As the hunter pulled up beside him, Castiel saw his eyes go to the notebook still clutched in the former angel's hands. Bobby's shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes hanging his head low. After a moment, he took a deep breath and reaching up, carefully pulled the book from Castiel's fingers before setting it aside.

"I know. I know," he said his voice catching slightly as he patted Castiel gently on the arm. "I miss him too."

******

"Ben's a smart kid, really smart," Dean announced with a tiny hint of pride. "I tried giving him a hand with his homework, but I don't think I was much help. It's not like I'm big in the academic department anyway."

"I always considered you to be fairly intelligent," Castiel declared.

"Thanks, I think. I thought Ben was practically a carbon copy of me with all the classic cars and classic rock, but really, school and books were always more…." Dean trailed off and cleared his throat. "Anyway, I was just trying to help Lisa out and after the whole bully incident, I thought helping with homework was a safer bet."

"Bully incident?"

"I was just trying to teach him to defend himself!" Dean insisted indignantly. "Dad started teaching me that sort of stuff by the time I was six. I don't know how Lisa's manages to pull off this whole single parent thing plus run her own yoga studio. Ben might be smart but he's still a handful."

"Your father managed."

Dean snorted. "Dad was lucky that we were smart enough to look after ourselves. It's not like he ever did much parenting."

"He also had you to look after Sam," Castiel reminded him, once more feeling a tightness in his throat as his thoughts again turned to the younger Winchester.

Dean remained silent on the other end of the line. It had been almost two weeks and Dean had yet to speak of Sam. Not even his name had been mentioned, and sometimes Castiel wondered if Dean had decided it would be easier to simply forget.

"Does looking after Ben remind you of caring for Sam when he was a child?" he asked hoping to bring back good memories.

"Look, can we not talk about this right now, or ever?" Dean's gruff voice caught slightly sounding even hoarser than usual. "I just… I can't…"

"Dean…"

"I have to go."

The line went dead and Castiel put the phone down with a sigh.

Sam's last request to him had been to look after Bobby and Dean as best he could and Castiel had voiced his doubts. Now, those doubts were being proven true, as there seemed to be nothing he could do to help Dean.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Castiel's eyes moved back and forth between the different jars of tomato sauce as he tried to figure out whether he liked mushrooms. He glanced at the list held in his hand where pasta sauce was written unhelpfully in Bobby's sharp, slanted handwriting. The entire list had proven unhelpful in general. Castiel had already spent fifteen minutes trying to figure out which brand of butter he was supposed to buy.

When he'd gone grocery shopping with Bobby before, he'd simply followed behind fetching and carrying. On this occasion, the hunter had declared that it was time the former angel made himself useful and had handed him the list before directing him out the door. Castiel didn't really mind. He often felt the urge to get out of the confines of the house and this provide him with both an excuse and a destination, but he was uncertain if he was completely ready for the responsibility of choosing groceries.

Gazing over the top of the shelves, Castiel could just make out the cashier at the front. The young man was watching a small television screen, but kept glancing up to give Castiel odd looks. The looks had begun after the second time Castiel had required careful directions to find an item on his list. He had discovered some of the things to be completely unidentifiable. It wasn't that he didn't know what these foods were. He had come across a plethora of different foods during his observations of humanity. He simply found them hard to identify in their current brightly coloured packaging.

The label on the pasta sauce containing mushrooms had a picture of a gray haired woman who was giving him a disconcerting grin. Castiel picked up a jar without mushrooms and placed in his basket with the other groceries.

The cashier rang him up slowly seemingly distracted by the news being shown on the television.

"It's weird," he commented as Castiel handed him the money Bobby had given him.

"What's weird?" the former angel inquired obligingly.

"All those disasters that happened, the hurricanes, the earthquakes, the volcanoes. And now this." The cashier nodded to the television where the news anchor was reporting on a replica of the Eiffel Tower that was being made out of cans of beans. "It just stopped. It's like there was a war and it's finally over."

"The war is over," replied Castiel. "Lucifer has been defeated and imprisoned once more."

Frozen, the cashier stood staring, the receipt and change hanging from his outstretched hand, as Castiel suddenly realized he'd forgotten to lie again.

"Yeah. Well…" The man hastily pushed change, receipt and groceries in Castiel's direction. "You don't sound too happy about it."

Frowning, Castiel picked up his bags and made his way out, the bell at the entrance jangling as he left the store. Outside, the sun was high and bright. The world was full of the fresh green of new growth interspersed with the bright colours of blooming flowers. As Castiel walked along the road, he watched the people already in their summer clothes contentedly enjoying the warm weather as they freely went about their lives.

The war was over. They had won. They had accomplished what they set out to do.

Shouldn't he be happy?

Birdsong echoed from the trees and Castiel stared at the ground watching the dust from the gravel shoulder cover his new boots.

******

"I am not a TV sitcom dad," Dean said vehemently.

"A what?" Castiel questioned frowning as he sat down on his bed and wishing not for the first time that Dean would stop his constant use of peculiar references.

"You know," Dean explained as if it should be obvious to anyone including former angels, "One of those men with bald heads and big beer bellies who spend all their time in a busted up armchair watching TV and drinking."

Feeling only slightly more enlightened, Castiel shook his head. "I don't believe you are. Last time I saw you, you still had hair."

"That's not what Lisa thinks."

"Because you're going bald?"

"I am not going bald!" Dean yelled then paused catching his breath before continuing. "Lisa thinks I've been spending too much time drinking and watching television, that I need to get out of the house."

Castiel straightened up, his eyes narrowing. "You haven't left the house?'

"Well, no," admitted Dean reluctantly. "But I need some time. It's only been a couple of weeks. Don't I deserve a break after everything I've been through?"

"Yes, but I don't see how that necessitates you staying at home." Things seemed worse with Dean than he'd realized. Castiel might not understand the grieving process of humans, but confining oneself to a single building didn't seem healthy or helpful.

"It does if I want it to," Dean snapped back in response. "What have you been spending your time doing?"

Castiel hesitated. Most of the time, he was too busy trying to figure out how to live as a human to consider what he proposed to do with his new life on Earth, but as time passed, the issue appeared more and more frequently in the forefront of his mind and he had yet to find an answer.

"Reading various books. Going for walks. Sitting on the porch," he answered because that is what he seemed to spend most of his spare time doing.

Dean snorted and Castiel could almost hear his eyes roll. "That's how you intend to spend your human existence? I thought I taught you better than that."

Castiel's teeth gritted against each other and with some of his once heavenly wrath, he replied, "And spending my time watching television and drinking copious amounts of alcohol would be better?"

The line was silent a moment before Dean spoke again. "Fine, maybe I'll take Ben out for a burger or something." He still sounded peevish, but also slightly contrite. "But It's only because I'm trying to set a good example," he insisted.

"Of course," Castiel replied.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Castiel was upstairs when he heard it. He'd been shifting through dusty boxes investigating the contents of one of the house's many dilapidated, junk-filled rooms when the loud crash echoed and reverberated from below. He immediately ran out, images of demons and vengeance seeking angels crawling through his head as he pounded down the stairs.

What he discovered was Bobby lying on the study floor next to his overturned wheelchair and surrounded by the contents of a nearby bookcase.

Castiel knelt beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Bobby, are you alright?"

"Don't touch me!" Bobby yelled pushing the former angel back, unbalancing him so he landed on his behind.

"Bobby?"

"I'm fine," the hunter insisted as he pushed himself along the floor towards his chair.

Frozen for a moment, Castiel watched Bobby struggle; then standing up, he started gathering some of the books from the floor.

"Just leave it," exclaimed Bobby sharply, having levered himself into a sitting position with the aid of his overturned chair.

"I was merely…," Castiel began his jaw tightening.

"You can't help. You can't do anything. Just go!"

Eyes narrowed to slits, Castiel dropped the books and spun around heading for the front door. He let it slam loudly behind him, an overture to the drumming of his steps as he pounded down the ramp.

Wandering aimlessly, he weaved between the wrecks in the salvage yard. He managed to circle the house several times before he achieved anything beyond wordless fury. It was the desire for destruction that finally made him stop. He eyed one of the piles of derelict cars, rusted paint and dented doors, missing wheels and broken glass, and found himself with his fist clenched and pulled back as if to strike.

He gazed down at the fragile, lined flesh that covered his hand. Once he could have crushed those empty, metal constructs with little effort. He wouldn't have even needed to touch them.

Half in restless rage, half in desperate hope, he lifted his hand, two fingers raised and pointed at the junked cars. He reached deep within himself searching for the power that used to be his, a power so familiar and so much a part of him that normally he could have accessed it without even a thought.

His breathing increased and an ache began between his eyes. For a moment, he thought he felt a spark inside his chest, a remnant of who he used to be.

But the cars remained completely still.

His shoulders slumped and he let his arm fall. Turning away, he began treading directionlessly through the wrecks once more. As he did so, something tickled his upper lip and he wiped at it absently surprised to find a small trail of blood now smeared across his hand. Ignoring it, he continued on occasionally pulling irritably at the collar of his shirt.

******

"Bobby'll be fine," Dean insisted after Castiel explained what had occurred.

"He's a completely infuriating, antagonistic dickhead," Castiel stated unequivocally, finding that he was obviously still holding on to a remnant of that afternoon's fury.

"Yeah, well, for him that's normal."

The former angel let out a wordless grumble.

Dean sighed. "Admittedly, he can be a bit abrasive. But that's just his way."

"I was trying to help." Considering there wasn't much he could do to help anyone in his current state, was it any wonder that he was infuriated by the fact his offer of assistance had been met with ire and insult.

"Sometimes you can't."

"And that necessitated him yelling at me?"

"He was probably just embarrassed," Dean explained. "Maybe he needs some space. He's not used to sharing his home especially with an ex-angel. I've started giving Lisa some space by taking myself out to a bar a couple times a week," he added as if going to the bar was a hardship and he was doing it as an act of charity.

"So I should go to a bar?" Alcohol seemed to be Dean's answer to everything, though Bobby admittedly was seldom better in that regard. Castiel recalled it helping once, the time he'd realized all his faith in his father had been as foolish as everyone had always claimed it to be and he'd drank his way through a liquor store. It hadn't taken away all the pain, but for a while, it had left the world in a strange fuzzy state which had made it a lot easier to deal with.

"Or wherever. Listen, Bobby's got his own stuff to deal with, but he'll cope in his own way and he'll be fine. The man's a rock," Dean said with conviction. "He's the one I can always count on to get through things."

Castiel remained silent deciding it was best not to inform Dean that after hours spent wandering the salvage yard, Castiel had entered the house to find the man Dean called a rock passed out at his desk with two empty bottles, a familiar gun and a lone bullet.


	8. Chapter 8

The buzzing in his ears was back. Only it wasn't a buzzing exactly. It was more like the murmuring of a thousand voices constantly rising and falling, but no matter how loud they got, Castiel could never make out what they were saying. The heavenly host had made sure of that when they cut him off. He wasn't sure if the murmuring he heard was an oversight on their part or if it had been done by design to torment him. All he knew was when his brothers' exchanges grew agitated, he heard it, and it was giving him a headache.

The upstairs bathroom had a cabinet above the sink behind an old, distorted mirror. Castiel opened it avoiding his reflected image and carefully perused the various bottles and packages that lined the shelves until he found one that had the name he was looking for. The label on the aspirin bottle was worn and peeling but he was able to make out the correct dosage. Dean had told him to down the whole bottle when he'd given the painkillers to him during the former angel's first hangover, but that was before and Dean was prone to exaggeration.

Castiel shook two of the pills out onto his hand and gazed at them wishing for a moment that they could stop the voices as well, but despite the pain, he knew the silence might be even worse, severing his last connection to his brothers.

He wondered what they were doing now whether they were fighting amongst themselves still or had found some purpose to unite them. It was possible Raphael had stepped up to fill Michael's absence, but leadership had never been his strength. Instead, he was the reason Castiel defined archangels as forces of nature. He was force, pure and temperamental. Maybe it would be better if they remained fighting amongst themselves that way they'd leave Earth alone and it was less likely that they'd try to track him down.

Castiel didn't even know how many of them knew the truth about God's absence and the efforts to bring about the apocalypse. Most of his brothers had been manipulated like he had been, bound by faith and obedience, but Michael's fall into hell and the unprophesized end to the apocalypse should have brought up much doubt. Many of his friends in his garrison had…

He stopped that thought. He'd made the decision soon after his rebellion to not consider them friends anymore. You couldn't consider someone a friend when they'd likely be sent to kill you, when you might have to kill them. He'd considered approaching a few of them for information, but decided it would be too dangerous. Ever since Uriel had tried to kill him, it was hard not to question everyone he'd once trusted.

This was the right path. He'd made the right decision he knew, but that didn't make it easier knowing he could never go home or be among his own kind ever again.

He swallowed the pills with a grimace and waited.

The pain didn't go away.

Rereading the label on the bottle, Castiel saw that they could take up to twenty minutes to work, unsurprisingly slow as so many humans things seemed to be. Sighing, he placed the bottle back in the cupboard and headed for the bathroom door. When he reached it, he hesitated then turned around and retrieved two more pills from the bottle quickly swallowing them too.

******

"Dean? Dean!"

"Yeah. Sorry. Whah was that?" slurred the voice on the other end of the line.

Castiel frowned. "Are you drunk?"

"Nah. I'm not drunk," replied Dean. "What I am is completely shit-faced. And it takes a hell of a lot of alcohol for me to get this way, let me tell you."

"What happened? Are you alright?"

"What happened? My brother died and went to hell. That's what happened! So no, I am not alright!" The older Winchester's voice rose to a scream by the end of his tirade forcing Castiel to move the receiver away from his ear. "You know what Lisa said today? You know what she said? She said, 'At least, he's in a better place.'" The laugh Dean gave had a horrible, dead sound to it.

"Dean, she doesn't know," Castiel spoke calmly and quietly. He had yet to meet or even speak to Lisa Braeden, but he felt great respect for her for putting up with Dean in his current temperamental state.

"I know that. Of course, I know that. I also know exactly where Sam is and exactly what's being done to him. It was done to me. Crap, I did it to other people. Now, I wake up screaming every night because I have nightmares of me torturing my brother!"

Castiel didn't need reminding about what had happened in hell or Dean's nightmares. He'd already seen both. "Dean, I… I'm sorry," he said unable to think of anything else to say.

"Yeah? Well, fuck you," Dean replied, but there was more tiredness than venom in his voice. "Next you'll tell me that everything's going to be okay, just like Bobby's okay, just like you're okay."

Castiel remained silent.

The sound of movement and the creak of leather came over the line. "You know sleeping in the Impala isn't as comfortable as I remember it being."

"Why are you trying to sleep in your vehicle?" Castiel asked in confusion. "Did you leave? Did Lisa kick you out?"

"Sort of."

"Pardon?"

Dean sighed. "I'm not allowed in the house when I'm drunk. So I'm spending the night out in the car in the driveway. That way I'm not breaking my promise to Sam, you see? I'm staying and living my nice, normal, apple pie life just like I promised, Sam."

"Dean…"

"I might be a shit-faced drunk, but I'm keeping my promise." Dean's voice was growing softer as if he was falling asleep.

"Maybe I should hang up," Castiel said uncertainly.

"No," cried Dean suddenly awake once more. "You have to promise me something. You have to make a promise too."

"Alright."

"Promise you won't become a stoned love guru."

Castiel couldn't decide if this was another one of Dean's bizarre references or if his mind was simply being affected by the alcohol. "A what?"

"Promise!" Dean demanded almost desperate. "I need… I need… I need you to be you."

"I promise, Dean," said Castiel with as much sincerity as he could while still unsure as to what he was promising.

"Okay. Good. That's good." Dean's voice trailed off into silence and soon the only sound that could be heard from the phone was the sound of snoring.


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel trailed his fingers across the textured surface of the yellowing paper as he gently flipped to the next page in the book, but found his eyes unwilling to focus on the script that covered it. He stretched out his stiff vertebrae and shifted into a more comfortable position before trying again. The Sumerian words came easily to him as any other language and he made it half-way down the page only to find himself distracted by an itch on his knee. He scratched it irritably.

He wondered what he'd be doing now if he was still a member of his garrison. Watching? Guarding? Fighting? Now, he read, cooked, bought groceries, did laundry, all paltry, pointless, human things. He'd laid siege to hell fighting thousands of demon spawn, he'd watched mountains rise and fall beneath the ocean, he'd flown from one pole to the other and between the stars, and here he was reading a book that was more often wrong than right.

Shifting his position in the chair again, Castiel scratched his fingers against his cheek and then rubbed a hand over his chest. The constant sensation of the clothing against his skin was irritating and the skin itself felt tight and constraining.

"You alright, Feathers?" asked Bobby from where he sat at his desk across the room. "You've been acting like you've got ants in your pants or something."

Castiel felt the urge to roll his eyes at the human's incessant need to use bizarre metaphors. At least, the metaphors Bobby used were more comprehensible than Dean's.

"I'm fine," the former angel grumbled bad-temperedly. "I'm merely… bored."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Well, maybe it's time you found something to do with your life, unless you intend to keep me company the rest of my days."

"And what should I do with my life?" Castiel tossed the book he had been trying to read aside. "What could I possibly do that is remotely worthwhile in this state?"

"Right, because nothing a human could do could be anywhere near as important as the duties of an angel of the lord," Bobby shot back sarcastically.

"So much of what you do is meaningless and accomplishes little."

"Well, that depends on your perspective, doesn't it," said Bobby his voice icy and quickly rising to a much higher temperature. "Maybe if you took your high and mighty head out of the heavenly clouds, you might realize that it doesn't take angel powers to do some good in this world and what you consider little means a hell of a lot to us humans!"

Castiel didn't bother to reply. He merely shook his head and left the room still rubbing irritably at his chest.

******

"I'm sorry about last night," Dean said later.

"You don't have to apologize," Castiel insisted. He'd been more concerned about the fact Dean had been drunk than the way he'd acted when inebriated. Thankful, the former hunter sounded much more sober that evening.

Dean let out a sheepish chuckle. "I'm not even sure what I said. All I remember is you calling and me ranting on about stuff. I guess everything just kind of hit me."

"But you're better now?"

"Yeah, I guess," Dean said his tone hesitant. "I spent half the day with the mother of all hangovers and the other half trying to make things up to Lisa."

"She's angry with you?"

Dean snorted. "I come home drunk off my ass and raving about hell scaring both her and Ben. Yeah, I'd say she's fairly pissed off."

"I'm sure she's mostly concerned." At least, Castiel hoped she would be if she truly cared about Dean.

"Maybe," replied Dean sounding unconvinced. "I tried cleaning the house as an apology though I doubt that helped much. I spent half an hour just trying to get the damn streaks out of the mirrors. Did you know there's a different type of cleaning product for just about every part of the house?"

"No, I did not. I have only just learned how to clean laundry." It was one of the many things Bobby had taught him recently and was, in Castiel's opinion, one of the most tedious.

"Laundry's easy compared to doing a whole damn house," Dean griped, "Hopefully, I didn't screw things up too badly. I kind of broke the vacuum cleaner, but I managed to get it working again. I'm not used to all this domestic crap."

"Neither am I, but it appears to be a necessary part of human life." Sometimes it seemed like the entirety of human life. So much time spent battling the continuous entropy of your surroundings and your own mortal body. Castiel rubbed a hand wearily across his forehead.

"This is the price we pay for normal?" said Dean in understanding.

"So it would seem."

Dean let out a tired sigh. "I suppose it could be worse. I could always be stuck on a cleansing diet spending all my time in an office and driving a Prius."

"Yes," Castiel replied in vague agreement but at the moment he couldn't see how either life could be preferable.


	10. Chapter 10

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Castiel took a moment to gaze down at Bobby who appeared rather small from the former angel's current vantage point. The hunter had wheeled his chair a dozen feet or so from the house to get a better view and Castiel could just make out the glower he was sending in his direction.

"Admiring the view," he called down carefully shifting into a more comfortable position on the roof, his gaze returning to the expansive land and sky in front of him.

"Are you out of your head, you birdbrained idjit?"

"Your home is small and confining. I needed to get out," Castiel said trying to give voice to the agitation that had caused him to crawl through the upstairs bathroom window that afternoon and climb to the highest point on the roof. He rubbed the strained muscles of his neck and scratched absently at the skin over his chest.

Hands clamped tightly to the wheels of his chair, Bobby yelled back, "Usually when someone wants to get out, they go for a drive. They don't go around risking a broken neck!"

"I have no intention of breaking my neck."

"You'd find that a hell of a lot easier to do without the whiskey!"

Castiel glanced over at the bottle balanced precariously on the roof beside him, one he'd snatched from Bobby's abundant liquor supply earlier that day. He'd almost forgotten it was there though obviously not completely since it was now only half full and he was sure it had been all there when he'd started his climb.

Bobby spoke again his voice developing an anxious edge. "If you want to drink, at least be sensible about it and do it inside."

"No," Castiel said taking a swig of the whiskey to demonstrate his non-compliance.

"Idjit, you don't have wings anymore. If you fall off, you're not going to be able to just fly away. Come down!"

Castiel swallowed heavily and set the bottle back down. "Why don't you get out of that chair, climb up here and make me?"

Bobby gazed at him narrowly from deep under the brim of his cap. His lips were drawn back into a thin line, his jaw tight. "Fine. Stay up there, but if you're still alive after you hit the ground, you can call for the damn ambulance yourself!"

Not bothering to watch him leave, Castiel instead turned his eyes back to the horizon line.

The cry of an eagle suddenly broke through the air and he looked up to see it swooping above him catching the wind with its wide wings. He reached for the whiskey but misjudged knocking it over. The bottle rolled down the slopped roof and over the edge smashing loudly against the ground below where it formed a dark puddle full of shattered glass.

******

"Are you okay?" asked Dean. "You sound a bit…"

"I'm fine," Castiel proclaimed tersely. The whiskey he had drunk earlier had worn off and he was already starting to feel a mild hangover. Despite Bobby's beliefs, he hadn't broken his neck and had gotten down off the roof with only a few slips and missteps.

"Okay. Okay," the former hunter replied backing off. "Lisa and I had a bit of a talk yesterday."

"Yes."

"Actually, it was kind of a long talk. You know how women are."

"No." His first foray into the world of human woman and sex had proven fairly disastrous and he had yet to pursue further interest. He supposed he should. Dean always seemed to find them distracting, but Castiel seemed unable to call up the enthusiasm for such things at the moment.

"Oh, right. I guess you wouldn't." Dean cleared his throat and moved the conversation in a different direction. "Well, the end result is I'm going to be getting a job. Seeing as how I'm supposed to be living this apple pie life, I guess I need to actually start living."

"That's true."

"I'm thinking mechanic or something. Lisa thinks I could be something more, but it's not like I have a lot of qualifications." Dean let out along sigh. "Not sure how things are going to stand between me and her. I might have thrown myself into her life a bit fast. Kind of need to see how things go."

"I see."

There was a pause and then Dean asked, "Are you sure you're alright? I mean you've never been a big talker, but tonight you're practically monosyllabic."

"I'm… I'm merely tired," Castiel replied though the word seemed inadequate to express how he actually felt.

"Okay…" said Dean in a puzzled tone. "I guess I'll talk to you tomorrow then."

"Okay."

Hanging up, Castiel placed the phone on the bedside table beside him. He stared up at the ceiling, but only for a moment before pushing himself off the bed and heading for the small window in the east wall. The sight of the stars beyond the smudged glass helped relieve the pressure he felt from the encroaching walls surrounding him, but it did little to help with the pressure he felt from the enclosing flesh. He ran his nails over his bare arms before scrapping them across his sternum, the thin white scars of the sigils standing out starkly against the red skin.


	11. Chapter 11

When Bobby woke up that morning, he shifted his body from the bed to his chair with a practiced ease that only made his heart feel heavy. Rolling into the kitchen, his eyes were immediately drawn to his current, and most likely permanent, houseguest standing in front of the kitchen counter with his back to him still wearing the blue T-shirt and gray sweatpants he'd slept in. The former angel seemed strangely still and quiet, but Bobby had grown used to his odd behaviours.

"Hey, Feathers. You got the coffee going yet?" the old hunter asked glad that despite the large deficits in his knowledge, Castiel was a quick learner and was now not half-bad at making a descent cup of joe.

Castiel didn't respond.

"Cas?" Moving closer, Bobby noticed a knife held loosely in his right hand. "You're not experimenting with different foods again, are you?" He asked with a groan, recalling the culinary disasters that had occurred when Castiel had tried to be inventive in his cooking. "I really can't take another…"

Then he noticed blood glistening on the blade.

"What the hell?"

Bringing his chair forward with one strong push, Bobby grabbed a hold of Castiel and pulled him around to face him. The source of the blood was immediately obvious. Half a dozen deep cuts crisscrossed Castiel's chest in a random pattern leaving the front of his shirt in tatters and stained a dark red. The former angel was gazing down intently at his massacred chest his eyes narrowed in confusion.

"It's not working," he stated simply. His teeth were gritted tightly but seemingly more in frustration than pain.

"What…?"

Castiel ignored Bobby, completely focused on the sight before him. His grip tightened on the knife as he angled it against his sternum. "Why isn't this working?"

"Cas…" Bobby spoke slowly and calmly belying the alarm that was making his heart race. "I don't know what this is about, but you need to put the knife away."

Showing no sign of having heard him, Castiel instead brought the knife down across his chest leaving another long gash and causing more blood to ooze down his front.

"Stop it!" Bobby yelled grabbing Castiel's arm and trying to make him drop the knife or at least, keep it back from his already injured body. "Stop!"

"No, I have to free myself!" Castiel fought back, but Bobby refused to relinquish his hold.

Then the inevitable happened as Bobby's wheelchair tilted out from under him, but Bobby continued to hang on and his weight brought Castiel down to the ground with him. The fall caused the former angel to lose his grip on the knife and it skittered across the floor to a far corner of the kitchen.

"No! That was my way out!"

Castiel tried to scrabble on all fours across the floor to reach the knife, but Bobby grabbed him from behind. Unable to get good purchase without the use of his legs, the hunter felt himself being dragged forward, but he held on tight.

"Stop this, damn it! You're going to kill yourself."

For a moment, it seemed as if Castiel was going to calm down, abandoning his efforts to retrieve the knife, but then he started to scratch and scrape at his chest with his fingers spreading the blood from the open wounds. "Let me out! Let me out! I need to get out!"

"No, Cas. You are not dying like this," Bobby implored desperately maintaining his unyielding grip and pulling back Castiel's arms so he wouldn't be able to do anymore damage.

Eventually, the former angel's movements slowed, either from finally hearing Bobby's words or due to simple exhaustion and blood loss. He lay there leaning against Bobby and breathing heavily.

"Please," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper as he finally turned his wide glistening eyes to Bobby. "I can't get out. I'm trapped, trapped in a prison of decaying meat and my wings don't work anymore. I just want to be free. Please, let me out."

Shaking his head, Bobby looked away unable to meet the pleading gaze. "I'm sorry."

"Please."

Tears fell followed by sobs and Bobby wrapped his arms around Castiel's trembling form letting the former angel cry. Rubbing his back and offering useless platitudes, the old hunter looked up to the ceiling wishing to high heaven that the God, which Castiel used to have so much faith in, gave a damn.

******

Dean ran a hand through his short hair and let out a long shaky breath. "So, he's going to be okay?"

"Physically, yeah," came Bobby's voice from his cell. "It took a couple dozen stitches, but he's patched up. Luckily, he didn't lose too much blood."

"And mentally?' Dean asked not sure he wanted to know the answer. He glanced back at the house and caught Lisa's eye through the window. She looked at him questioningly, but he just shook his head and resumed his pacing across the backyard.

"I'm no shrink, Dean." Bobby sighed. "I gave him some sleeping pills. Hopefully, he won't be in such a psychotic mood when he wakes up, but it's just a stopgap."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean ran a hand over his forehead again. "We have to do something."

"Got any ideas?"

"Bobby, you didn't see what I saw in the future. I just can't let him end up like that stoned mess." The image of the broken man with the dead eyes and the maniac grin had been stuck in his head ever since Bobby had told him what had happened. He'd thought the whole stopping of the apocalypse would prevent that future from occurring. Now, he wasn't so sure.

"I don't know if there's anything we can do."

Dean would have crushed the phone in his hand if he could. "Don't you dare say that!"

Bobby was never one to flinch from an angry tone. "Dean, we've known about angels for almost two years now," he said his voice just as firm as before, "but what do we really know about them?"

"Besides the fact most of them are arrogant dicks? Not much," Dean admitted.

"Exactly," agreed Bobby. "Over half the lore we have on them is crap. We don't know what makes them tick. Castiel might look human, but he's not. It might be that angels simply can't cope with being trapped inside a human body."

"Anna did pretty well," Dean said trying to remember the strong young woman he'd made love to and not the psychotic angel who'd tried to kill him and his parents.

"But she didn't actually remember being an angel and when she did, she had a couple decades worth of human memories to help her cope."

Dean glanced at the house again. Lisa had her back to him now talking with Ben as he sat on the couch eating a snack. "Bobby, should I drive down? I mean…"

"Honestly, I don't think there's much you could do if you did," Bobby replied tiredly. "Physically locking him up ain't going to do him any good in his state. The boy's not suicidal just a little out of his head. Besides, what was that about a job you were supposed to start tomorrow?"

"I know." He should have taken off the moment he heard, but that was the thing. He'd finally gotten that stupid job that had made Lisa so happy, that meant he would finally fulfill his promise of having an apple pie life, that he'd been so eager to tell Cas all about. Wasn't his friend more important? "But I…," he began.

"I'll look after him," Bobby interrupted with an understanding tone. "I promise."

"Okay. Okay," Dean reluctantly agreed. "But if anything like this happens again…"

"Then I'll let you know and you can come dashing to the rescue."

Dean bit his lip and shook his head, frustrated and angry, but uncertain as to with whom. "Thanks, Bobby," he said, his deep voice rough with weariness.

"Don't mention it. He might be a dumbass of an angel, but he's our dumbass."


	12. Chapter 12

Castiel woke with the feeling that the world was tilted at the wrong angle. As he slowly blinked his eyes open, he became aware of a shaft of sunlight streaming through a window above him illuminating dusty books and faded wallpaper. After a few groggy moments where thoughts gradually began to coalesce in his head, he realized he was lying on the bed in the study and briefly wondered where Bobby had spent the night.

Absently, he reached up to scratch his chest and was surprised when his fingers encountered a bandage. Looking down, he saw bright white gauze wrapped around his bare chest which now, as if gazing at it had set it off, seemed to be a mass of stinging aches. He blinked again and shook his head. His thoughts were still slow and memories eluded him. Picking carefully at the bandage, he was able to loosen it enough to get a look underneath. Stitched lines covered his chest as if he was a badly made patchwork doll. He leaned back trying to recall what had happened. Eventually, it started coming back to him, but only in small hazy pieces.

He remembered being woken up by the loud irritated murmurings of his brothers' voices after only a few short hours sleep having spent most of the night gazing at the stars through his window. He remembered feeling uncomfortable and constrained in his human skin. He remembered going downstairs to make breakfast. He remembered the desperate, panicky feeling of being trapped. Then there was a knife and the irrational idea that if he just carved away the flesh enclosing him, he would finally be free. And then for some reason, he remembered Bobby holding him and telling him everything was going to be alright.

Slowly, it all fell together, but it didn't quite feel real as if it had happened to someone else. Castiel thought he should feel disgust or revulsion for the pointless mutilation he'd performed, or possibly even embarrassment, but he didn't feel anything at all.

"Good you're awake".

Castiel glanced over to see Bobby pushing his chair in from the kitchen manoeuvring it over until he was beside the bed.

"How you doing?" The old hunter asked laying a hand on Castiel's shoulder, his gaze carefully scrutinizing. He raised his eyebrows as he waited for an answer.

Not having one, Castiel didn't bother to reply. He turned his eyes to the ceiling instead.

Leaning back, Bobby continued eyeing him intently. "Going to tell me what's been going on in that head of yours?"

All Castiel wanted at that moment was silence and stillness, so he remained so wishing Bobby would leave him alone.

"Fine," Bobby declared when Castiel didn't respond, his compassionate expression shifting downward. "If you're not going to talk to me, you might as well get your lazy butt out of bed and into some clean clothes so you can eat breakfast."

"No," said the former angel.

"Excuse me?"

"I do not feel like getting out of bed."

Bobby moved over until he was able to lean directly over Castiel. "Did I ask if you wanted to get up? You're in my house, boy and I won't have you lying around wasting away. Now, move it!"

It might have been his old habit of obedience re-emerging, or possibly just the overwhelming strength of Bobby's will, but Castiel found himself unwilling to disobey. He let his leaden limbs lead him out of the bed and he manoeuvred gracelessly upstairs feeling Bobby's forceful gaze on his back the entire time.

******

"So… how are you feeling?" Dean asked hesitantly.

"The stitches itch," Castiel replied scratching at his bandaged chest. Bobby had already rebuked him several times that day for doing the same thing.

"Well, they've got to stay in until you're healed so just don't pick at them," Dean explained as if Castiel were a petulant child instead of an ex-angel. "Anyway, that's not what I meant."

"I…" Castiel searched for the words but he was no closer to being able to define his feelings than he had been that morning. "I don't know," he told Dean truthfully.

"Do you at least know why the hell you did what you did?"

Feeling reluctant to give voice to his troubles, Castiel fidgeted silently for a moment. "This body is a cage, somehow both too small and too heavy," he finally replied finding himself struggling with the inadequate, two dimensional words of the human's language once more. "I know what I did was wrong, the reasoning unsound, but I was unable to fight the need to escape."

"God, Cas…" Dean sighed and Castiel flinched at the poor choice of words. "But you're better now? You're not going to try something stupid like that again?"

Castiel stared at the patterns on the old wallpaper glad for once that Dean wasn't there so he didn't have to worry about avoiding his prying eyes. "I did not wish to leave the bed this morning," he admitted, "but Bobby forced me to get up and eat."

"Yeah, he can be a real drill sergeant sometimes, but he's just trying to help."

"I doubt there is anything he can do to help me." Dean might consider Bobby a miracle worker, but Castiel knew that not even Bobby could restore his grace, free him from this weighted shell or enliven his dead wings once more.

"Damn it, Cas!" Dean cried, his sudden angry tone making Castiel jump. "You scared the shit out of me. When Bobby told me what happened, I thought…"

"I apologise," Castiel said feeling an unpleasant flash of guilt amidst the numb despair.

"No," was Dean's quick reply, his voice noticeably calmer and contrite. "Don't apologise. It's not your fault. You've probably got the angel equivalent of PTSD or something."

Castiel's eyes narrowed as he frowned. "PTSD?"

"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Lisa claims it's the reason I have so many nightmares and act so jumpy. She wants me to see a shrink, but it's not like I'd be able to tell him anything. I utter one word of what's happened to me and it's off to the nuthouse again. No way am I going back there."

"Then what should I do?" Castiel asked unable to keep it from being a desperate plea.

"I don't know," Dean said quietly. "I wish I had all the answers, but I don't. Just please tell me that you won't do anything like that again."

"Dean. I…" Castiel very much wanted to make that promise to Dean, but felt as if he had no control over the emotions that had been influencing his actions recently.

"I can't lose you too, not now," pleaded Dean.

"I will try not to," Castiel said because it was the best he could do.

"Thanks. You'll get through this," Dean insisted with forced optimism. "You'll be fine. We both will. After all, we survived the apocalypse. This should be a piece of cake."

Though he kept silent, Castiel wasn't so sure. Somehow, things had been a lot easier to deal with when they had spent most of their time worrying about the end of the world.


	13. Chapter 13

Breakfast that day was sausages and scrambled eggs, and Castiel ate it as if he was performing a disagreeable chore. His limbs remained heavy and every movement seemed to take a disproportionate amount of effort. He had to cut the sausage into as tiny pieces as possible just to get them down his unwilling throat. Across from him, Bobby, having already finished his meal, sat reading the newspaper. Every so often, he would look up to check on Castiel's progress. The only sounds were the scrape of Castiel's cutlery across his plate and the rustle as Bobby turned pages.

Reluctantly swallowing another tiny morsel, Castiel reached up to rub at the healing wounds on his chest, but stopped when he saw Bobby glaring at him. The former angel scowled in return, but let his hand drop back down.

"Hurry and finish up," Bobby said as he folded his paper. "We've got stuff to do today."

"What stuff?" Castiel questioned unenthusiastically.

"Let's just say it's about time you earned your keep around here. Eat up and meet me outside when you're done." Paper tucked under his arm, Bobby wheeled out of the room giving a final warning as he did so. "And don't even think about tossing that sausage in the garbage."

Sighing, Castiel turned to his last sausage and continued his slow efforts, but only until he was sure Bobby was far enough away. Then silently and cautiously, he picked up his plate and scrapped what remained of his breakfast into the garbage can pushing it to the bottom so Bobby wouldn't see. When he was sure enough time had passed, he followed Bobby outside. He found the old hunter near the back of the house gazing at one of the many battered cars.

"What do you think?" Bobby asked indicating the vehicle in front of him.

Castiel shrugged. "It's a car," he replied because it was all he knew. That and it was blue.

"It's our current project," corrected Bobby. "I've been meaning to get it fixed up for over a year now. Move it into the workshop and we'll get started."

"I don't know how to drive," Castiel reminded him.

"That's okay. The engine doesn't work anyway. Just put it in neutral and push."

When Castiel turned to Bobby with a blank look, the hunter rolled his eyes. Putting the car in neutral himself, he directed Castiel as to where to move it. Once it was in position, he opened the trunk and had Castiel hand him his tools.

"Now pay attention," Bobby commanded as he reached inside the engine and began loosening something with a screwdriver. "I'm going to teach you how to fix her up."

"Why?" Castiel questioned completely baffled as to why he should find this necessary.

"Like I said, you need to earn your keep. Besides…" Bobby paused a moment to yank a small, dark greasy part from the engine and hand it to Castiel who looked at it as if he was holding an alien creature. "From what I've seen, you're completely useless when it comes to machines. You could stand to learn something."

"Angels have never had need for machines."

"Well, you'll find them pretty useful now."

Castiel didn't find that prospect particularly heartening, but was distracted from his dark thoughts as Bobby asked him to hand over another tool before beginning a long monologue on the inner workings of the engine.

******

"Sounds like you've been having fun," commented Dean with what might have almost been a chuckle.

"It's not something I'd describe as fun." After a morning spent bent over the derelict car, Castiel was left with a painful cramp in his lower back and dark grease under his fingernails.

"Didn't you like any of it?"

Castiel contemplated the cramped, cluttered workshop, the continuous clanking of metal tools and the overwhelming smell of gasoline. "I admit the way the interconnected parts of the engine work together is intriguing, but I don't share your pleasure at spending hours trying to fix them."

"Maybe you just don't like getting your hands dirty," Dean said, his voice light. "Hey, with my job at the garage, we're pretty much doing the same stuff."

"So it would seem."

"Of course, I get paid. Not much admittedly, but I still get paid." Dean let out a small snort. "Then again, you don't have to wear a damn fugly uniform."

"I'll consider myself lucky then," Castiel replied his tone bordering on sarcasm

Dean sighed. "I get it. I do. Fixing cars isn't your thing, but there's got be some part of human life you actually like?"

As he thought back, Castiel found it hard to recall any occasion he'd found pleasurable recently. He was sure there had been things he'd enjoyed, but none seemed to want to come to mind. Trying harder, he reflected on all the countless things he'd experienced and learned since he'd become human, subtle things he could have never imagined or understood when he'd observed them from afar, but he'd spent so much time struggling to comprehend his new world and mourning his old one that he hadn't taken the time to derive enjoyment from any of it.

"I like taking showers," he said abruptly as the realization suddenly came to him. "They remind me of summer rainfalls. And the smell of fresh coffee. I like coffee." Castiel frowned wondering why he'd never realized those things before.

"Well, I guess that's a start," declared Dean and his voice held hope.

A start to what, Castiel wondered.


	14. Chapter 14

The upstairs had become Castiel's refuge over the past two weeks. It was his way of escaping from Bobby and the constant watchful gaze directed at him as if he might break again at any moment. Unfortunately, the upper floor was not completely safe. Bobby was very good at making himself heard and his voice could carry to the furthest corners of the house and even, as Castiel found out on the few occasions he'd dared sneak out there, up to the roof.

The old hunter still insisted on making Castiel get out of bed each morning and eat every meal even when Castiel found both undesirable. The feelings of entrapment and unease in his human skin still plagued him and he often felt the compulsion to grab another one of Bobby's whiskey bottles and consume the entire thing, but Bobby had begun keeping them in a locked cabinet, the pain medication too for some reason.

Castiel found himself with little time to linger on his feelings though. Besides working on several projects in the salvage yard, Bobby also had Castiel translating ancient texts having realized the advantages of having on hand someone who understood every human language ever spoken. The result being Castiel was quickly learning the mechanics behind automobiles while Bobby was slowly adding to the multitude of languages he already knew. The tasks kept Castiel busy but he found them unsatisfying and he continued to switch between a disconsolate lethargy and a restless need to escape.

That afternoon after not hearing from Bobby for several hours, he felt compelled to leave his refuge and slowly made his way downstairs in search of him. A quick scan of the main floor revealed it was empty, but voices could be heard coming from outside and Castiel realized Bobby must be dealing with a customer. Customers did come to use the salvage yard, but fairly infrequently. Most just helped themselves to what they needed and dropped the cash off with Bobby.

Exiting the house, Castiel found Bobby a little ways off next to an old rust covered sedan and talking to a middle aged woman with greying brown hair. She wore jeans and a white blouse and had a warm, friendly smile on her face.

She was also a demon.

"Bobby!" he yelled in warning as he ran towards him realizing the hunter couldn't see the evilness of the demon oozing out of the poor possessed woman like he could.

Bobby turned in his direction confused by his alarm. The demon however swung around with a snarl of frustration which soon became a wicked smile as she gazed at him.

Seeing her look, it didn't take long for Bobby to catch on. "Christo!" he shouted as his instincts kicked in.

The woman's eyes flashed black revealing what Castiel had seen all along. Bobby tried to back away but he was already too close to her and had little room to manoeuvre. Leaping forward, the demon attempted to grab him, but by that time Castiel had already made it to them and he tackled the demon bringing them both to the ground. The pair rolled along the dusty gravel each fighting to gain dominance, Castiel struggling in desperation as he realized that the demon was stronger than he was. The demon was barely fazed by the blows the former angel delivered, but a hit to the head sent Castiel reeling and he faltered giving the demon the upper hand.

Fortunately, at that moment, they were both hit by a large wave of water, holy water as was immediately made evident from the reaction of the demon that cried and withered as it steamed. Castiel was able to roll out of the way while above him he heard Bobby's gruff voice reciting a Latin exorcism. The woman's mouth soon opened in an inhuman scream as black smoke poured forth, the demon heading on its long journey back to hell.

"Damn, I must be getting soft," said Bobby as he gazed down at the woman, empty bucket still in his hands. "I didn't even think to check her. Thank goodness, I keep plenty of holy water around."

Still feeling the blow he'd received, Castiel pushed himself up to his knees and gave his head a shake letting off a spray of water. He was drenched from the waist up. "You're aim could use some work."

"Right. Next time, I'll wait until the demon's done with you and moved out of the way before I try to throw holy water at it."

Castiel glowered in response.

"Anyway…," Bobby continued clearing his throat. "Thanks, Feathers. I owe you one."

Shrugging absently, the former angel unsteadily stood up wiping away the water that was dripping down his forehead. Glancing at the unfortunate woman on the ground, he noticed she was still alive. She was unconscious, but he could see her slow breathing and the fragile, gossamer strands of her soul glowing now that they were pure once more. She was free.

"You know you've got pretty good reflexes even without your mojo and being able to see demons would come in pretty useful," Bobby commented a thoughtful expression on his face.

Castiel tilted his head and frowned at him. "What are you saying?"

"Ever considered being a hunter?"

******

"So, Bobby's going to teach you to be a hunter?" Dean said over the phone that night.

"Yes," Castiel replied. The decision had been made fairly swiftly. Though he still had doubts about his ability to do much good in his current diminished state, there was something about being a hunter that felt right. He had a mission again, a purpose.

"Huh." Dean's tone seemed slightly hesitant. "I guess that makes sense."

Castiel felt surprised by Dean's lack of enthusiasm for the plan. "You think it's a bad idea?"

"No. I think you'll be a great hunter. After all, you have the greatest hunter in the world to use as an example," Dean declared and Castiel could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Yes, working with Bobby will be quite an advantage."

Dean gave a fake cough. "I meant me."

"I know," Castiel answered unapologetically. "Bobby says I already have most of the skills and knowledge needed. I just need to learn how to do things the human way."

"As long as that's not the only human thing you plan on doing."

Feeling the need to change the subject, Castiel asked, "How is your new employment going?"

A tired sigh came through the line. "It's going. It's just when I got the job, I thought I'd be doing more actual fixing of cars and less of the oil changes and tire rotations. Not to mention, working on minivans and hybrid SUVs isn't exactly the same as working on the Impala."

"It's not what you expected?" Castiel frowned. He'd thought Dean had found his own purpose in this job.

"Not really. The boss is nice enough, nice enough to pay me under the table and not ask too many question, but he still says I need to work my way up and there's so much 'do this' and 'do that'."

Shaking his head, the former angel found himself rolling his eyes at that comment. "You never were good at taking orders from anyone other than your father."

"That's true," Dean admitted. "Really though, it's the completely idiotic customers that I have to deal with that are driving me insane."

"You could work somewhere else."

Dean snorted. "Not likely. There aren't many places that are going to hire a guy with no references and no experience. I need to stick with this place and hope it gets better even if that means being nice to jerk customers. I almost wished the dickhead I dealt with yesterday was a demon; then I could have taken care of him." For a moment, there was an almost venomous intensity in his voice. "Do you think there might be more attacks or was the demon that attacked you acting on its own?"

"We're unsure, but we've strengthened the wards on the house and extended them to include the entire property." After they'd discreetly dropped the depossessed woman at a nearby hospital, they'd spent the rest of the day working on the wards. Considering neither Castiel nor Bobby were popular among the denizens of hell, retaliation was always possible, though if hell was truly out for revenge, it was unlikely they'd send a single demon.

"Well, it's been quiet here, very quiet. Sometimes I wish…" Dean trailed off leaving the phone silent.

"Dean?"

"Never mind," the former hunter said quickly and dismissively. "I should go. Got to get up and work tomorrow, remember? I'll talk to you later."

"Good night," Castiel said quietly as Dean hung up.


	15. Chapter 15

A gunshot echoed through the air disturbing the quiet, sunny afternoon. Castiel pulled back the revolver in his hand and narrowed his eyes at the wall in front of him. A bullet hole marked the wood half a dozen inches from a hand-painted bull's-eye.

"Not too bad," commented Bobby from beside him. "You've got a good eye, but if you really want to hit the target, you can't just point and shoot. You need the proper grip and the proper stance." The old hunter showed Castiel how to hold the gun then gave careful directions until Castiel was standing in a way he found acceptable.

Castiel fired again. This time the bullet came closer hitting only a few inches above the target.

"Okay, but you still need to compensate more for the kickback. Here." Bobby pulled out the largest of the guns they'd brought out with them. "Try this."

Taking the new weapon, Castiel spent a moment adjusting to the different size, and then aimed at the wall once more. The gun bucked in his hands as he fired slamming painfully against his shoulder and causing him to stumble back a step. The bullet went wild landing a couple feet from the target.

Laughter came from beside him. Castiel scowled and cursed Bobby in Enochian. It only made the hunter laugh louder.

"Well, now you know what I mean by kickback. Now try again with the small one."

Castiel did and hit the center of the bull's-eye.

Bobby nodded proudly. "And that's how you shoot. What do you think?"

"These weapons are loud and clumsy but I think I am getting a handle on them."

"I suppose you'd prefer a sword," commented Bobby dryly.

For a moment, Castiel felt a wistful longing for the smooth, solid feel of his sword in his hand. The human weapons seemed incredibly crude in comparison. "Swords have their advantages."

"And disadvantages," Bobby said. "Practice for a while with each of the guns. Then I'll show you how to clean them. I'll expect you to be able to disassemble and reassemble all of them by the end of the day."

Castiel wondered if this was one of those times when humans considered it appropriate to yell 'yes, sir' and salute. Dean would certainly have a fitting sarcastic comment to reply with, but the former angel merely nodded and took aim at the target once more.

******

"Reminds me of when Dad taught me how to shoot," Dean said with a touch of nostalgia in his voice.

"He was a good teacher?" Castiel inquired finding himself curious about the man who had obviously meant so much to the former hunter.

Dean hesitated a moment. "I guess…. He wasn't exactly a patient teacher and he loved to push hard, but I learned a lot from him. I could clean and shoot nearly every gun under the sun by the time I was eight."

"Isn't that somewhat young?" Castiel tried to recall during what ages humans were considered children in these times. It seemed to change from one century to the next.

"Not in the Winchester household," replied Dean. "It's funny how normal it seemed back then, but let me tell you, the devil can dance on my grave before I let Ben touch a gun."

"You plan to maintain his innocence?"

"As best I can," Dean said with the same conviction he used to say no to Michael. "He's already seen more than enough what with the whole changeling incident. I plan on keeping his life normal. In fact, I'm taking him to the big car show this weekend to see all the beauties they have there."

"You're going to a show to look at cars?" Despite all Bobby had recently taught him about their inner workings, automobiles to Castiel were still merely slow moving cages of metal, an unfortunately necessary means of conveyance.

"Not just any car show. The biggest in Indiana," explained Dean.

"Don't you see enough cars at work?"

"Cas…" Dean said in the tone he used when he thought the former angel was being oblivious about something. "I'm not talking about the old junkers and pimped up SUVs I see everyday. I'm talking classic muscle cars. I hear they have a 1969 Camaro."

Not feeling any more enlightened, Casteil said, "And that's a good car?"

The former hunter let out a long sigh. "Forget it. You're worse than Lisa. Sometimes, it seems the only things she and I have in common are a love of good beer and Dr. Sexy. I think she's glad to finally have someone around who's as into cars as Ben is."

"I'm sure you and Ben will have a good time," Castiel said diplomatically.

"We're going to have a blast," Dean insisted with an enthusiasm in his tone that Castiel hadn't heard in a long time.


	16. Chapter 16

"Alright, so how do you kill a shapeshifter?"

"A weapon of silver."

"A vampire?"

"Decapitation."

"Wendigo?"

"Dismemberment."

Turning away from the damaged carburettor he was working on, Bobby gazed at Castiel with both eyebrows raised. "I think you'll find fire a bit easier."

Conceding, Castiel nodded breathing somewhat heavily as he set a tire on top of an already large pile at the corner of Bobby's workshop.

"How about a Rakshasa?"

"A bronze dagger," Castiel replied placing another tire on the pile. Taking a break, he leaned against his neatly collected tower and removed his blue, button down shirt revealing the sweat soaked T-shirt beneath. He didn't remember heat being this overpowering when he was an angel. For some reason, Bobby had decided that this sweltering hot day would be the perfect time to finish off some of the projects in the salvage yard and Castiel as usual found himself unable to argue with the old hunter.

"A Harpy?" Bobby called out as he continued to work on the carburettor.

"An arrow made from a yew tree, but only if fired during a new moon," Castiel answered automatically.

"Really? I always wondered about that."

Castiel sent him a look of exasperation.

"Okay, so you know your stuff," Bobby admitted setting the carburettor aside and moving on to another broken component. "Then why don't you go inside and get yourself a glass of water. I'm not teaching you all this crap just so you can die of heatstroke."

Castiel wasted no time in following that directive. He headed inside to the kitchen where he savoured the refreshing feel of the cool liquid down his throat as he drank.

He was midway through his second glassful when a knock sounded at the front door. Eyeing the entrance suspiciously, Castiel put down his glass and moved to answer the knock reaching out with senses he no longer had to try to find out who was there. Though it was unlikely a demon could make it past the wards they'd placed, Castiel still felt the need to remain on alert, so he opened the door slowly and cautiously.

Outside, standing patiently in the doorway, was a woman with auburn hair wearing a sheriff's uniform. She wasn't a demon, but she had tired eyes and there was a deep scar on her soul.

"Hello," she said in greeting. "I'm Sheriff Jodi Mills. I don't believe we've met."

"I'm Castiel," the former angel replied stoically, eyes carefully scrutinizing.

"That's an unusual name." The sheriff gazed at him questioningly and then peered around him into the house. "Is Bobby home? I just dropped by to check up on him."

"He's in his workshop around the back."

She nodded, but didn't move from the doorstep. "Actually, I'd been hoping to meet you."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Mostly just curious," she said with a disarming smile. "Sioux Falls is a small town and we're pretty close knit especially after the events of last year, so news of someone staying with Bobby got around pretty fast and I like to keep on top of things."

This passage of gossip wasn't too surprising to Castiel. He'd noted the curious stares he'd received whenever he'd ventured into town.

"So, what brought you out here?"

"I recently lost my… job and my home," Castiel declared after a moment of hesitation, deciding it was close enough to the truth.

"Well, it was very kind of Bobby to take you in. You've known each other long?"

"I'm a friend of the family." That was true. Bobby considered Sam and Dean family, and Castiel was their friend.

Frowning, the sheriff shifted her weight slightly from one foot to the other. "I didn't think Bobby had any family."

Castiel opened his mouth to explain but was interrupted before he could begin.

"You here to harass me again, Sheriff," came Bobby's voice from behind her. They turned in surprise to see Bobby wheeling his chair up the ramp towards them.

"Just came to see how you're doing, Bobby," said Sheriff Mills moving out of the way so he could get by. "Haven't seen you in town recently."

"I've been busy," the hunter grumbled as he turned his chair to face them. Then shoulders slumping, he dropped the gruff demeanour. "How you doing, Jodi?"

"I'm getting by. It was nice to finally meet your new housemate."

"Oh, Feathers is just keeping me company for a while."

The sheriff raised her eyebrows. "Feathers?"

"It's 'cause he acts like a giant frigging bird."

Wondering why Bobby insisted on comparing him to a bird when he couldn't even see his wings, Castiel frowned, head tilting to the side.

"See," Bobby said with a snort.

Sheriff Mills laughed. "Well, you must feel lucky to have him," she said nodding at Castiel. "I know it can't be easy for you living on your own in this big house especially with the wheelchair now. It must be good having him around to help look after you."

While Bobby's expression became a grimace, the lines across Castiel's face deepened.

"I don't look after Bobby," the former angel said. "He looks after me."

For a moment, there was a lightness in the old hunter's face and posture, as if he'd suddenly lost the weight of a dozen years, then he resumed his gruff mask. "Now, if that's all Sheriff. We've got stuff to do."

"I won't keep you then," she said turning to leave. "Have a good day and if you need anything…"

"Yeah, yeah," Bobby muttered giving a half-hearted wave as a goodbye. "Come on, Cas." He laid a hand on Castiel's arm leaving it there a moment longer than necessary and giving the arm a small pat before letting go. "I owe you a beer."

And together, the two went back into the house.

******

The barely intelligible words that came through the phone that night were full of false cheer and bitter sarcasm.

"Hey, Cas. What's up, assbutt? Having fun playing hunter?"

Closing his eyes, Castiel shook his head. "Dean, you're drunk again."

"Says you," he slurred and Castiel heard the slosh of liquid inside a nearly empty glass bottle and the swallow as Dean helped himself to its contents.

"Are you alright?" Castiel asked knowing it was a stupid question, but it was what humans always asked even when they knew the answers were mostly lies.

"I think I punched a wall or something," replied Dean, his tone more confused than concerned. "I don't really remember, but my hand kind of hurts and there's some blood on my knuckles."

He was even drunker than last time despite seeming so much more content and settled over the past week. Castiel couldn't comprehend the sudden change. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Dean denied and gave a humourless laugh. "I took Ben to the frigging car show. We had a fantastic time."

"Isn't that good?"

"No! Not good! I was happy!"

Castiel frowned feeling as lost as when Dean had tried to explain his love of cars. "I don't understand."

"Well, you're a fucking moron," said Dean with an angry huff. "I was happy. Don't you get it? My brother is dead and getting tortured in hell and I was happy!"

Automatically casting his eyes to the ceiling, Castiel found himself glaring at it as if it could send the message of his anger to God. "Dean, you can't spend the rest of your life grieving for your brother. You should be allowed to be happy. You're brother would want you to be happy."

"How the hell would you know what he would want?"

"Dean…"

"No, no, no. I know he wants me to have a happy normal life, but you still don't get it." The words began to blur even more as Dean's voice caught and broke between the syllables. "I was happy because for a little while, just for a moment… I forgot. I forgot Sam." And Dean's rough voice turned into a chocked sob.

Castiel remained silent, but he held tightly to the phone as if he could somehow transfer that grip to Dean.

"What if…" Dean began again after several aching minutes. "What if I forget him completely?"

"Never." Castiel's words were as intense as when he had the power of heaven behind them. "I know you, Dean Winchester. And I promise you you will never forget your brother."


	17. Chapter 17

Castiel let the rock salt pour slowly through the funnel into the cartridge and began packing it in. After spending the entire morning performing the same movements over and over, his fingers moved quickly and surely. Twenty completed cartridges lay on their sides scattered across the table.

Shifting in his seat, he absentmindedly reached up to scratch at the hidden scars on his chest, but stopped before the fingertips touched his shirt. Frozen for a moment, he took a long, deep breath, then deliberately let the hand fall back down and returned his attention to his work.

The floor creaked as Bobby wheeled his way into the kitchen. "That's bad luck, you know," he said gesturing to the table with a folded newspaper.

"What?" questioned Castiel still concentrating on packing the salt rounds.

"Spilling salt."

Castiel glanced at the table where the white crystals lay spread about having being spilt during his earliest attempts.

"You're supposed to throw some over your shoulder," Bobby explained.

Pausing in his labour, the former angel turned to frown at Bobby. "Wouldn't that involve spilling more salt?"

Bobby shrugged. "Don't look at me. I didn't make this stuff up, but you're going to need all the help you can get. Here."

He tossed Castiel the newspaper which hit the table causing some of the bullets to start rolling towards the edge. Castiel hastily caught them before they could fall off and then sent a glare in Bobby's direction. The old hunter stared unapologetically back and pointed at the paper.

"We've got a hunt. Time to saddle up."

An article had been circled in black ink. Castiel scanned it quickly. It was about a man who had died falling down a set of stairs in his home. Apparently, the investigators were unable to determine whether or not it had been an accident. There was reason to believe the man had been pushed, but there was no evidence of any intruder in the house.

"You're certain this is a hunt?"

"After you've been doing this as long as I have, you get a sixth sense about these things," Bobby replied slightly indignantly as if Castiel was questioning his abilities as a hunter. "Plus I've already done the research. It only took a few phone calls. I'll get you to do it next time if I can ever teach you to lie," he added with a snort.

Castiel gave him his own indignant gaze, glaring deeply at him from under his eyebrows. "I am capable of lying. I simply don't understand the human need to do it constantly."

"Yeah, well, us humans generally don't like knowing the truth. We're experts at ignoring it even when it stares us in the face."

Bobby didn't need to tell Castiel that. The former angel already knew how good humans were at denial.

"From what I've found out," continued the old hunter. "There's been three similar deaths in the same house over the past five decades. The first one happened shortly after an eleven year-old girl had died the same way. Coroner at the time ruled it as an accident, but the girl had been living alone with her uncle and there'd been rumours of abuse."

A look of disgust passed over Castiel's face as he understood what Bobby was implying.

"Pretty obvious angry spirit. A simple salt and burn will take care of it. I thought I'd give you an easy one to start off with."

Castiel gazed back down at the newspaper article. "And you believe I'm ready?"

"We'll never know until you get out there. This is the kind of gig that requires on-the-job training. I just hope you're good at digging."

******

"So, you're really going to do it?" said Dean. He didn't seem drunk this time, but his voice sounded just as bitter as the when he had been.

"Yes," Castiel replied sitting down on the edge of his bed and gazing over at his recently packed duffle bag. "We plan to be on the road early tomorrow. I might not be able to call you for a day or two as we will be fairly busy."

There was silence on the line for a moment then Dean's voice returned demanding, "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"You know," Dean said almost accusingly. "Hunting, fighting."

Castiel paused. The question was something he himself had pondered on several occasions. His new life had required a purpose and despite his insistence that none worthwhile or meaningful could be found in his human state, he had immediately leapt at Bobby's suggestion to become a hunter. Something in his 'gut' had told him it was right which for him was an unusual and almost terrifying way to make a decision. He was still not used to choosing his own course, let alone basing those decisions on his feelings. It had taken a while for him to understand why this felt so right.

"Because there are still things that need fighting," he told Dean.

"And there always will be. What's the point?" There was the edge of bitter despair in Dean's voice. "I know you've spent pretty much your entire existence doing this, but now you've got free will and you're really going to keep fighting this unending battle? All you're doing is the same crap job."

"You're wrong," Castiel replied without hesitation. "Back in heaven, it was different. I was fighting to preserve the sanctity of heaven and maintain humanity on its true course. Now, I fight to save lives."

Dean merely huffed in response.

"I believe it's the right thing to do."

"So you save a few measly lives, that's it?" said Dean with contemptuous sarcasm.

"People are important, Dean," Castiel said softly, his eyes sending a pleading look out across the country. "That's what you taught me."


	18. Chapter 18

The shovel dug deep into the impacted earth and Castiel tossed what felt like the thousandth shovelful over his shoulder. Pausing for a moment, he leaned heavily on the handle and wiped the sweat off his forehead as he caught his breath. This must be the true human way he mused, dirt and sweat. Both clung to him as he stood at the bottom of the grave.

"Stop dawdling, Feathers," Bobby called down from above where he sat on guard with his shotgun. "We need to get this done before sun up or your next lesson will be how to explain grave desecration to irate law enforcement officials."

With a sigh, Castiel began to dig again, resisting the urge to throw the next mound of dirt in Bobby's direction. He distinctly recalled believing that hunting involved more fighting and less manual labour. His arms and back ached as if trying to remind him he still wore a human body. The child's grave marker loomed above him, a seven foot tall, stone angel with wings folded and arms outstretched. Castiel spent most of his time digging with his head bowed and avoided looking up as much as he could.

He had almost reached as far down as the coffin when he suddenly felt cold fingers encircle his neck from behind and begin to squeeze.

For an agonizing second, he couldn't breathe. Panic shot through him, lungs screaming as he became aware of just how necessary air was to him now and he wondered whether this was what it felt like to drown. Then Bobby cursed and Castiel heard the loud crack of a gunshot. The fingers disappeared and Castiel gasped a deep lungful of air.

"I knew it. Nothing's ever simple," grumbled Bobby. "Better hurry it up, Feathers. She'll be back and even more pissed."

Earth flew as Castiel did his best to double his speed. Every so often, he'd feel a brush of cold air and hear the sound of another gunshot. He managed to reach the coffin in a matter of minutes, but before he could open it, he heard a strangled gasp from Bobby and looked up to see the thin, wispy form of the little girl with her hands clenched around the old hunter's neck.

Bobby's eyes were bulging as he instinctively clawed at the insubstantial fingers choking him the spirit viciously holding on. There was something extremely disturbing about seeing such an expression of rage on the face of a girl in long, blond pigtails and a green and white checkered dress, but Castiel didn't have time to contemplate how an innocent child could become a monster. He reached for his shotgun that lay near the edge of the grave and took careful aim. The blast of rock salt flew right through the ghost's head. She vanished into mist.

"Good shot," said Bobby hoarsely once he could speak again. "Now finish it up."

Dumping the shotgun, Castiel reached back into the grave and began to prize open the lid. The rusty hinges caught, but he forced them open. Inside the coffin, the tattered remains of the checkered dress still clung to the small skeletal corpse, but Castiel barely glanced at it. He pulled out the container of salt from his coat pocket and spread it liberally over the remains followed by the lighter fluid; then he quickly got out of the grave.

He had lit a match and was about to drop it in when Bobby called out a warning. Looking up, he saw the statue of the angel falling towards him. Blindly, he tossed the lit match in the direction of the grave and fell to the ground, desperately trying to roll out of the way. He felt a whoosh of air and the quaking impact against the ground as the statue landed mere inches from where he lay on the grass.

For a moment, everything was quiet except for the faint crackling of flames.

Then Bobby called out, "You alright, Cas?"

Castiel got shakily to his feet. "I'm fine." He stepped around the stone angel noting it now had a broken arm and a deep crack through its right wing.

Rushing fire was filling the yawning grave. Castiel watched as it reduced everything within to ash.

"Not bad," said Bobby setting down the shotgun on his lap. "Just remember next time it might not be so easy."

Pausing as he bent to retrieve the shovel, the former angel gazed at Bobby in wide eyed disbelief. The old hunter stared back wearing a wide grin.

And Castiel suddenly found that he was smiling too.

******

"You've reached the voicemail of Dean, so speak up or shut up."

Frowning, Castiel disconnected the call, not bothering to leave a message. There would be no point. He'd already left five. It had been four hours since his first.

Because of the hunt, Castiel had been unable to call Dean as usual the night before which made it over forty-eight hours since they'd last spoke. Still, there was no reason to suspect something was wrong. Dean could be out late somewhere without cell reception or his phone could simply be dead.

But then, Dean was notorious for finding trouble and he'd never missed a call before.

Castiel opened his cell and dialled again.


	19. Chapter 19

It had been six days since Castiel had last heard from Dean.

After his eleventh unanswered call, the former angel, with the help of Bobby, tracked down the phone number of Lisa Braeden. Lisa had been both surprised and glad to hear from him. Apparently, she'd long been curious about Dean's late night phone calls. She told him that Dean had left suddenly on the very same day Castiel and Bobby had gone on their hunt. He'd said he needed to go on a short trip to take care of some business and promised to be back in a few days. Lisa believed he'd keep his word, but was still worried. Apparently, there'd been an unsettling look of fixed resolve on his face.

At first, Bobby had claimed Dean just needed some time to himself, that he was still coping with the loss of his brother, but after a couple of days, Bobby had admitted that considering this was Dean they were talking about, it was entirely possible the idjit had gone off to do something momentously stupid.

When Castiel had determined that more than a 'few' days had passed, he'd insisted they go out in search of Dean to which Bobby had simply replied, "Where?" They had no idea where Dean had headed and the former hunter was very good at keeping himself hidden if need be.

But Castiel had grown even more determined to head out and search the more the days passed, which was why he was now upstairs in his room packing his few belongings into an old duffle bag and wishing Bobby had gotten around to teaching him how to drive. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to find Dean, but he planned to try. After all, he had a lot of experience in hopeless searches.

While emptying his closet, his attention was drawn to the beige trenchcoat hanging at the back. Taking it out, he held it up and gazed at it in the fading daylight noting the frayed seams and the blood stained sleeves he'd never gotten around to cleaning. There'd been no reason to wear the coat recently. It was inappropriate for summer weather and ever since he'd become human he'd admittedly found the coat cumbersome and restricting. Yet, it had been a part of who he'd been and he was reluctant to let it go. After much deliberation, he decided to leave it behind.

It was as he was putting the coat away that he heard the faint, but familiar rumbling sound coming from outside. It took him a moment to place it, and while it grew closer, he wondered why something so common as the noise of a car engine could incite such feelings of fondness and longing. Then the sound fell into place in his memory and he raced to the window.

The Impala was just pulling up in front of the house, sunlight glinting off the edges of its black paint.

Castiel almost fell down the stairs in his haste to get outside. His surroundings, including a confused Bobby, passed by in a blur until he stood on the front porch gazing down at the familiar car.

The driver side door opened and out emerged Dean Winchester. There were purple bruises and bloody scrapes covering one side of his face and he limped slightly on his left leg, but he looked surprisingly content with a fresh glimmer in his soul that hadn't been there when he'd left four months ago.

His face lit up with a grin when he spotted Castiel. "Hey, Cas. Long time no see."

Blaming it on some human instinct, Castiel quickly drew near the former hunter and wrapped both arms around him holding tight. Dean tensed a moment as if startled; then wrapped his arm around Castiel too, his grip just as strong.

When they finally let go, Dean straightened his back and cleared his throat as if trying to regain some sense of dignity. "Yeah," he mumbled gruffly, "I guess I missed you too."

But Castiel, who'd originally been reluctant to let go, found his joy at seeing Dean pushed aside by anger at his mysterious absence. "Where have you been?" he demanded.

"Took a trip to Disneyland," Dean joked weakly. "Trust me. The Magic Kingdom really isn't as magical as they'd like you to believe."

Castiel's glare remained unwavering and Dean cringed.

"Ok, so I went on a little hunt which proved to be not so little. Things got a bit chaotic. Phone got smashed. I know I should have called. I'm sorry."

Castiel's eyes widened in surprise.

"Really sorry," Dean insisted sincerely. "For well… a lot of things."

"You went on a hunt?" Castiel questioned brow furrowed.

"I came across this article in the paper about some mysterious deaths in Arkansas. I knew something was up so I went to check it out."

"But I thought you weren't planning to hunt anymore."

"People were dying and well..." Dean's lips twisted up in a warm smile as he placed a hand on the former angel's shoulder. "I seem to recall someone reminding me recently about how important people are."

Castiel felt the urge to hug Dean again, but was distracted by an enraged yell from the direction of the house.

"You'd better have a damn fine explanation for where you've been!"

They both turned to see Bobby on the porch glaring lividly down at Dean. Castiel observed as Dean swallowed nervously and opened his mouth to defend himself, but then suddenly, Bobby's eyes grew wide, his gaze moving to something behind them. Castiel quickly spun around realizing he'd been so distracted by Dean's arrival he'd completely missed the fact there'd been someone else in the Impala.

It was Sam.

Not a changeling or a shapeshifter. Not Lucifer or some demon wearing Sam's body. It was simply Sam, the same familiar soul, ragged along the edges, but pure.

"Wow. Jeez, Cas," The younger Winchester said his gaze alighting on the former angel once he'd exited the car and slammed shut the door. His eyebrows were raised as he looked him over. "You look different, good, but different."

And then, Castiel was hugging Sam just as hard as he'd hugged Dean.

Afterwards, Sam left a hand on his shoulder smiling as he said, "I'm glad you're okay."

Castiel's lips rose in a rare smile of his own. "I'm glad you're alive."

Sam winced seeming vaguely embarrassed. "Yeah, about that…"

"Dean, please tell me you weren't stupid enough to actually get your brother out of hell," Bobby called out his expression shifting between anger, hope, and disbelief.

"You really think I'd try something that stupid," responded Dean, affronted.

There were suddenly three pointed gazes directed at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, so maybe I might, but I didn't. He didn't need my help."

"But it's really…" Bobby's voice went from angry to choked.

"It's me," said Sam.

Bobby turned to Castiel his eyes seeking reassurance and confirmation. The former angel gave a brief nod.

It took less than a second for Sam and Bobby to meet up at the bottom of the ramp where Sam had to bend over almost double to hug the old hunter.

"Damn it, boys," Bobby said hoarsely, wiping at his eyes. "You really need to stop doing this to me."

Sam let out a chuckle. "I promise we'll try not to die anymore."

"And if we do," added Dean, "we'll leave a note saying when we'll be back, so you don't have to worry."

"Very funny," grumbled Bobby and turning, waved at them to follow. "Get your asses inside and you can explain what happened over some beer."

They gathered inside the kitchen and soon all had a bottle of cheap beer in their hands. Leaning against the kitchen counter slowly sipping his, Castiel kept shifting his eyes between the two brothers finding it hard to believe they were actually there. Sam sat at the table across from Bobby his gaze often drifting back to Castiel as if still astonished by the changes in him while Dean remained standing close to his brother as if he was afraid he'd disappear.

"Well," said Bobby once they were settled.

"It was God," Sam said after a deep breath then he shrugged. "Well, as near as I can figure. One minute, I was on my way to hell. The next, I was back on Earth and Lucifer-free."

Castiel found his gaze drawn upward as he felt something twist painfully in his chest. He couldn't decide whether it was hope or anger.

Meanwhile, Dean was shaking his head at his brother. "What the ginormous ignoramus forgot to mention is that was months ago. He somehow got the idiotic idea in his head that we were better off without him, so he went off to hunt on his own."

Sam looked down at his feet avoiding Bobby's gaze.

"Then how'd you find out?" Bobby asked Dean while still glaring at Sam.

Dean explained about the hunt he'd gone on between swallows of his beer. "Didn't take me long to realize someone else was investigating the same thing as me. Imagine my surprise when I found out who it was."

"It wasn't exactly easy finishing the hunt when he spent most of the time chewing me out," added the younger Winchester.

"But it's all worked out now, pretty much. Though we could use a little help with something…" Dean cast a hopeful look in Bobby's direction.

"Let me guess," Bobby said as he leaned back in his chair. "You're on the trail of something nasty and you need my help with research, again."

Sam grinned sheepishly. "How'd you guess?"

"Come on then, let's move this little conference into the library."

Bobby wheeled his way into the other room with Dean walking behind him, but when Castiel moved to follow, Sam stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"I just wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"For looking after theses guys," explained Sam pointing over his shoulder to the pair in the library.

"I didn't do anything," Castiel insisted.

"Trust me," Sam replied with a knowing smile. "You did lots." And he went into the library after the others.

Still puzzled, Castiel gazed after him, the bottle of beer frozen in his hand. He recalled all the times he'd tried and failed to help Dean and Bobby. All he'd been able to offer were a few limited words and a pair of hands with none of the strength they once possessed. As a human, he'd been nothing but a burden to them trying to navigate his new limitations with stumbling steps that had brought him to the depths and back. He knew he had Dean and Bobby to thank for keeping him sane after everything he'd lost, during his acclimatisation, during the pangs of confinement he still felt. But had he aided them too?

He gazed into the study where Bobby was trying to direct Dean in retrieving a book from the top of a high shelf. The expression on Bobby's face was one of exasperation, but there seemed to be a grin hidden in the corners of his mouth and in his eyes. Dean was acting deliberately obtuse taking an unreasonably long time to locate the book as he pointed from one to another while Sam looked on chuckling and shaking his head.

Castiel had been human, or as close as he could be, for over four months now, but there was still much he had yet to comprehend.

Suddenly noticing the former angel's absence, Dean glanced over. "Get in here, featherbrain," he called out. "We need you."

Broken from his tangled thoughts, Castiel placed his unfinished beer on the kitchen counter and went to join his friends.


End file.
